


Mess Around

by mouschie



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Anal Play, Dean Needs A Hug, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Mental Instability, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Praise Kink, Rimming
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-26
Updated: 2016-07-26
Packaged: 2018-07-26 19:24:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7586836
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouschie/pseuds/mouschie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Shield members are their own worst enemies, and indestructible to anyone but themselves. This is the reality of emotions, and it isn't always a love story.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mess Around

Seth Rollins gleams in the ring – last man standing. The Heavyweight Championship is dangled high above his head like it represents something deeper than an extra couple thousand in his pocket. His teeth bare white, bright against digital camera shutters. He’s a beacon of light to Dean in this moment, a fleeting reflection of everything he both secretly desired to be, and desired entirely. 

Roman Reigns lays flat beneath him, arms outstretched to embrace empty air. Dean doesn’t see a defeated man, but miles of slick muscle and dark hair. He sees a vulnerable mouth agape and deep chest heaves. He thinks he caught the split second Roman’s eyes rolled to the back of his skull following a turnbuckle powerbomb.

Dean Ambrose slinks further behind the curtain, peeling tape from his hands. Averting his eyes from the scene doesn’t make it go away behind his head. All he can conjure in the space between his ears consists of how many ways Seth has weaseled himself to the top and above Roman in every aspect. 

He really shouldn’t take it so personally, but guilt blooms deep in his chest just the way it always has.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

“Tell me what you’re thinking about, because I want to hear it, right now,” he growls in the seductive way that’s always dragged Dean by his throat. Two fingers are rooted deep inside of the brunette, daring him to say the wrong thing. 

“F-fucking…” he tries, really, but the words slip-and-slide from him when two fingers curl to stroke thoughtfully against his prostate, “You fucking me, giving it… giving it to me so good,”

The broken words seem to satisfy Seth, whose fingers carefully pull back to their tips. He’s drawing out mewls and garbled words from Dean, tracing his stretched entrance with agonizing slowness before pushing inside once more. The Lunatic grabs frantically onto his own skull, tugs at the hairs, thrashes his head back and forth. It hurts this time, because Seth isn’t using anything but spit to lube himself up. Dean could say, “it hurts”, but his hard cock and arching back betray him. 

“Come on, Dean. Tell me how you’re into being fucked like this, nice and loud, and don’t… don’t disappoint me, baby,” Seth chides before sucking a beautiful bruise onto his collarbone. 

Dean fists the sheets above his head so tightly, his knuckles turn white. Seth’s lips continue on a mischievous trek down his chest, filled with butterflies nesting upon knots. He’s not as muscular as anyone in the industry, but Seth makes him feel like there’s actually something there. And _oh god_ , Dean is so grateful for it. So, so grateful to finally earn himself a spot this close to someone like Seth. He’s special. 

“Seth, please… C’mon, don’t make me beg too much…” he whines pathetically when the Champion’s facial hair rubs with delightful friction against his pelvis. When slick engulfs his hard length, Dean’s eyes roll to the back of his head and stars swim in his vision. The only thing in his world is tongue crawling up his shaft, lips skillfully folded over teeth, nails creating crescent moons in his hips. Everything about it is entirely _Seth_. His world could end right at this moment, and it would be utter bliss. 

He wants to please his lover in an attempt to convince himself that he isn’t entirely selfish. His muscles are too unstable, head clouded with pleasure. He knows what Seth wants, but he isn’t ready to give it to him, no matter how much he wants to. All he can settle for is that hot mouth, sucking in one testicle, followed by another. It has Dean coming to the sound of Seth’s heavy breathing and swollen lips in a matter of seconds. 

Everything is hot and white and he tries to warn Seth, but the words become garbled. He’s sucked dry like a champ, grimacing at the sticky sweat between his back and the bed sheets. 

Seth is on him a moment later, plastered against his side and panting, “Come on, please, gotta… gotta get me off, too…” practically humping with some carnal desperation against Dean’s hip. When his erection nestles between both thighs, Dean reels away from the contact with an awkward chuckle. Seth always tries, every time, to test Dean. He’s waiting for the moment Dean snaps, giving up his 30 years of virginity for the sake of a good fuck. Briefly, Dean considers just giving it to him after Seth unceremoniously swallowed his cum. It was the least he could do, right? 

Dean’s caught between dozing off with an arm slung over his eyes pathetically, or entertaining Seth’s cum-laden mouth with his tongue. He chooses the latter, not quite enjoying the taste of himself but he decides it’s worth it. Seth is latching onto Dean with everything he has, kissing fierce and tugging at his cock in hand. It’s as though the movements are rehearsed, frantic and needy. 

When Seth comes, it isn’t beautiful or shared by both of them. He makes a mess all over himself, collapsing half atop Dean. He’s panting, as though it was the single best experience of his life. As though he had reached some great epiphany. All Dean registers is dark hair splaying itself across his chest, and the first thought that twists itself into his sickening mind is Roman Reigns.

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

When it happens, they’re in Las Vegas and Dean should have seen it coming. 

Seth and Roman shared the ring again that night, and it was another championship battle. The Authority deemed Seth retaining the title was “best for business”, so Dean didn’t really know why they were going at it. He caught the battle behind stage, absorbing glimpses of Seth driving his boot into Roman’s stomach, and The Man launching at him with a Spear three consecutive times. 

Something must have snapped deep inside of Roman, because he was straddling Seth and lobbing punches at him in a move entirely un-scripted. 

The bell clanging three times to signal the end won’t do a damn thing, and Dean bates his breath as referees rush out to break them apart. He feels sorry for both of them, and the selfish little voice at the back of his skull tries telling him that it’s all because of him. Dean did this. He doesn’t want to listen, truly, and stalks off to distract himself elsewhere for awhile. They'll be okay, because they always are.

It isn’t until they’re alone, drunk on take-out and cans of Coke, when Roman pulls words out of thin air and strings them together to make sense of things. Dean hasn’t asked about why Roman went ballistic on Seth, afraid of the answers, ultimately afraid Roman will find out their secret and everything will unravel. 

“’Remember, he might be your partner in the ring. But unfortunately, that’s all he’ll ever be’” Roman recounts without any context whatsoever. He says it slow, silent – afraid. 

Dean wonders if Seth’s statement was meant to hint at their relationship, wonders if Roman caught it. Chinese suddenly doesn’t sit too well with him, half digested Lo Mein creeping up the back of his throat. 

“Just ignore that, idiot doesn’t even know what he’s talking about,” 

Roman considers this. He’s breaking into a barely audible laughter, the kind that frightens Dean, because it isn’t driven by hilarity. He says that on any other occasion, he would agree with his brother. This is not one of those occasions, and he insists with bitter finality that Seth is right, “for a change”. Dean doesn’t know what any of this means, until Roman’s large hands part him at denim-clad kneecaps. He’s suddenly too close, too present, too warm, but Dean is sandwiched between the back of his rolling chair and a hard chest. Which one is more comfortable, he wonders. 

“I don’t want Seth to be right,” he speaks in the gravelly tone that shreds Ambrose apart from the inside out. The honesty in Roman’s brilliant blue eyes make Dean feel like he doesn’t deserve to look at this man – his best friend. Roman is an all-consuming fire, mistaking oil for water. 

When Roman touches their mouths together with curious firmness, Dean shouldn’t lean into it. Brothers don’t do this and his conscience doesn’t even remind him of Seth. The older man tastes of soy sauce, kissing tender and edging Dean closer to him. Two hands settle on Roman's face and solidify their liplock into something much deeper and intimate, allowing his lips to be worn down with tender sucks and teasing pulls.

“Woah, Big Dog, slow down…” Dean murmurs, redirecting the hand pawing at his semi-hard crotch. 

They end up on the hotel bed together, passionate kissing and roaming hands. When Dean closes his eyes, Roman’s beard, and subtle tickle of long hair make him feel like Seth is the one stripping him bare. But there’s no mistake in the differences between them. Roman isn’t ripping Dean’s clothes apart or forcing his pants down with unyielding force, taking his time, fingers practically melting into Dean’s skin. He doesn’t use his teeth alone, always peppering kisses on any marks left behind. Roman Reigns doesn’t demand Dean to “strip”, but waits for it to happen like it’s the best goddamn thing he could ask for. 

“Good boy, you’re so good,” Roman coos into his ear, petting his lover’s thigh. Five simple words elicit such a reaction from Dean, who moans and drips pre-cum helplessly. 

“Ro.. fuck, again…” Dean’s begging of his own accord, something he’s never done before. Sloppy kisses trail down his side, and Roman’s mouth loses itself somewhere between his thighs. When Dean tangles his fingers boldly into Roman’s hair, proud confidence fills him when the other man sighs appreciatively, leaning into it. Shocks of pleasure climb up and down his spine with every wicked thing Roman’s lips and tongue do to him. 

“Such a good boy for me, aren’t you?” and his tongue delves itself deeper that moment, muscular hands reaching back to spread open Dean. He’s in so much ecstasy from fingers kneading into his ass, it barely registers to him that Roman’s burying his face there. 

“God, oh..- Fuck..” Dean Ambrose is coming undone inch by inch, achingly slow, in ways Roman wants him. Lips press to his puckered hole and a hand pets his cock adoringly. Knots of heat coil themselves within Dean’s abdomen, shuddering and threatening to spill over. He can only take so much of this, teeth clenched and hips bucking towards the delicious friction of Roman’s tongue playing against the taught muscles inside his ass. 

When Roman fills Dean’s mouth with his cock, it stretches his jaw and tests his gag reflex in ways Seth could only wish for. Spit drips from Dean’s lips, and Roman tilts his chin until they’re eye-to-eye again, mouthful of cock. 

“You’re taking it like such a good boy, I’m so proud of you, Dean,” Roman strokes through his hair, and doesn’t miss a beat when Dean turns himself around. If anyone could give it good to Dean, he wanted it to be his brother. The Samoan didn’t hesitate in pressing the tip of his cock against his lover’s stretched entrance, circling with a digit before working himself inside. This man was certainly a work of art, muscle and sinew, handling Dean like he was a treasure. 

Roman waits for Dean to bottom out, all the while whispering praises to make the wrestler’s head spin. They set a slow rhythm, Roman’s thick, heavy cock dragging back and forth inside of Dean, peppering kisses against the back of his neck. It felt something akin to taking a reverse shit, and Dean would be the first to admit it ached. Rolling his hips offered some pleasure – nothing compared to the overwhelming ecstasy washing over him when Roman nudged against a particular spot. 

“Does my good boy like it here?” Roman’s grunting, relying on tan, shaky thighs to hold himself up. He’s reaching around to fist Dean’s aching hardness, then bucks against the same spot. It elicits another delicious moan from the man beneath him, and Roman swallows it down as their lips clasp together. Dean couldn’t imagine being fucked into slowly felt so amazing. 

They work up a steady pace together, and Dean is so accustomed to Seth’s aggressive quickness that Roman has to slow the brunette down from rutting against him too quick and eager. They last all of but five minutes together, and Dean is the first to come with a sharp gasp. He’s spilling white all over the bed and onto his thigh. The clench of his muscles tug on Roman’s cock, pulling him over the edge with Dean. He pants out his partner’s name like it’s holy between blissful kisses and praising. 

When they separate, a certain emptiness registers inside of Dean. Roman scoots inches away, and Dean clings onto him like a lost child. He doesn’t seem to mind the weight of Dean’s skull on his chest as he lays back wordlessly, eyes slipping closed, dozing off. 

Sperm remains in the human system up to five days, Dean recalls from basic anatomy. He’s filled with Seth’s and Roman’s, so why does he feel like a part of him is unsatisfied? A dull ache blossoms at the back of his skull, beginning to overthink the possible conversation both men will have in the morning. 

________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________

Roman Reigns is crouched over on the empty locker room’s bench, pale as a ghost, glaring down at the floor like he doubts its’ entire existence. Either he doesn’t notice the red welts forming on his shoulder in the distinctive outline of a boot – Seth’s boot – or just doesn’t care. Dean’s blood rushes to his ears the closer he gets, because Roman’s expression becomes harder and harder to read. 

They’ve held a steady relationship for two weeks, fresh and new and everything he said Dean deserved but was never given. Truthfully, Dean didn’t deserve any of it. 

Despite their established relationship, he crawled back to Seth on multiple occasions, countless nights. They’d slink away in a hotel somewhere, once at Seth’s house. Sometimes Dean would tell Roman he had a meeting with Stephanie or Shane as a guise. He wanted so desperately to come clean and rid himself of Seth’s eternal stench. He didn’t mean to be this way, honestly. Seth kept him around with blackmail, and the harsh hands that had built Dean up were a part of him now. Seth was a part of Dean, as much as he hated to admit. 

“Hey, man, what’s wrong?” Roman doesn’t answer, and Dean sits down beside him to speak softer, as though anyone else was in the locker room, “Talk to me,” 

“You couldn’t do that, so why should I?” he speaks with such bitter fierceness, Dean feels slapped. He deserves that and more, he knows. He doesn’t want to find out how Roman pieced it together, or who told him. He doesn’t need to innocently ask Roman what he means, because Dean knows and they both know. All of this was coming, the train wreck, but it doesn't make Dean's heart race any less with fear. 

“Well, tell me how I can fix this,” he’s grasping at straws, throat suddenly tight. Reigns shakes his head, hands clasped together. Dean would beg to keep Roman by his side if possible, but he can’t have the best of both worlds. He’s attached to Seth in some sick way, who only provides a fraction of what Roman offers. It stings right now despite knowing he’ll have Seth to run to later, who will take him no matter what, tail tucked between both legs.

But who will Roman have? He doesn’t think about that.

They agree to act civilized in the ring together, to wrestle within the rules against one another. Their brotherhood has been shattered beyond repair, and Dean knows it’s because he just couldn’t help himself. 

Every nerve in his body screams to _find Seth_ , seek him out, run to him for comfort. He needs to have that reassurance, his safety net, his guaranteed warmth at night. 

Dean doesn’t. 

He goes back to the hotel and packs up all the items from the room he and Roman shared, gets one of his own on a floor neither of the men are booked into. Over the weekend, Seth’s texts become an incessant, angry swarm of bees. His phone begins buzzing multiple times in several hours and Dean shuts it off to force away the impulse to answer. He isn’t mad at The Architect who built him from nothing but emptiness, but he isn’t sure how to say “no”, either. He’s not the best at these things. 

Dean doesn’t do this in hopes of regaining Roman, a man sculpted out of brawn and beauty. WWE deserves a face to represent itself, and not a mask. He wants to set himself straight before his time’s up, and silently thanks Roman for showing him that. He'll be thankful for Roman as long as he can be.


End file.
